


i wanna make your heart beat

by brandonsaad (createadisaster)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 08:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1422181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/createadisaster/pseuds/brandonsaad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saader is so, so pretty.</p><p>Brandon is so, so fucked.</p><p>(In which Brandon Saad is pretty and Brandon Bollig deals with it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wanna make your heart beat

**Author's Note:**

> so over at the [hockey rarepair fest](http://hockeyrarepair.livejournal.com/) "brandon bollig/brandon saad, such a pretty face" was prompted by someone very much after my own heart. this is like 500 words of exposition and 3500 of porn, because apparently with me you either get ridiculous fluff or explicit doin' it in the butt and there just is nothing in between. this isn't anything especially extreme but there is some pain kink vibes going on with bruises and whatnot.
> 
> check out the rare pairs fest! leave some prompts and fill some prompts! this world needs more saad/bollig!

Brandon Saad is pretty, and Brandon Bollig can’t stop noticing.

It’s the eyes, for starters. They’re like, ridiculously blue. Punch you in the face blue. _BOOM_ blue. 

Pretty blue.

His eyebrows are nice, too, well-shaped and thick. Brandon’s sure he’s never noticed anyone’s eyebrows before, but Christ, he notices Saader’s. They’re pretty.

He’s got a nice nose, too, classic and curved and pretty. His hair is thick and dark and pretty. His jaw is kissable and pretty. His cheekbones are high and pretty. 

And then there’s the mouth. The mouth is pretty. The mouth is _sinful_. The mouth borders on illegal, probably, because when he smiles it’s wide and honest and pretty, and when he talks it shapes around words very nicely and is just remarkably pretty, and when he concentrates it’s pink and closed and his tongue pokes through a little bit and, in addition to being fucking filthy, it’s pretty.

Saader is so, so pretty.

Brandon is so, so fucked.

\- - -

Saader is not only unacceptably pretty but also smart, kind, funny, and filthy good at hockey. Brandon’s got a Plan, though. After several months of attempting (and failing) to cope with all this, he sort of _has_ to develop a Plan. It’s for the sake of his own sanity.

The plan is this: fancy dinner on a fancy tablecloth. Probably with candles or something. Hold his hand. Kiss his cheek. Fuck him senseless.

Foolproof.

\- - -

“Come over for dinner after the game, yeah?” Brandon asks Saader, pressing his hand against the small of his back, real light. “I’ve got a good feeling about tonight.”

Saader grins at him. So, _so_ pretty. “Alright, sounds good,” he says, in that obscenely earnest way of his.

Brandon smiles. Everything is going according to schedule.

\- - - 

It doesn’t go according to schedule.

Instead, it goes like this:

Leddy gets flattened by a Bruin and Saad loses his temper. Brandon’s never seen him like this, vicious and physical, playing with intent. It’s not Saad who drops the gloves first, but it’s him who slams the other guy onto the ice, and when the refs haul him off and he snarls something Brandon doesn’t quite catch, he is still pretty. Prettier, maybe, with blood on his chin and fire in his eyes.

Saad skates to the box with a filthy smirk and a red spot on his jersey. Brandon stares at him from the bench and can’t think of anything but that bruised mouth wrapped around his cock.

\- - -

They still win, and the guys tease and congratulate Saader in turns in the locker room.

“You still wanna come over?” Brandon asks once the reporters have gone. When Brandon turns to him, his face is swollen and there’s color starting to show around his eye. 

The bruising is just beginning. It’s purple and still pretty light and, like the rest of him, pretty.

“I don’t know, man, think you can handle me?” Saader teases, raising his fists and taking a playful swing at Brandon.

Brandon likes to think he can. He’s beginning to doubt it—but he can’t wait to find out.

\- - -

Saader goes home first, and Brandon takes the time and the opportunity to get everything ready. This is gonna be romantic as _fuck_ , there’s no way it’s not gonna work. He’s got everything totally arranged and set up, salads and potatoes and wine, and literally all he has to do is cook the steaks.

He showered at the UC; he’s still in his game day suit, and if he wore the one that’s cut within an inch of its life and makes his ass look the best, well. What of it.

There’s three knocks on the door and Brandon calls from the kitchen, “It’s open!”

He’s about to light the candles when Saader walks in, dressed in sweats and a ratty tshirt and boasting a harsh black eye. Brandon is forced to note that he is, in fact, pretty.

He watches Saader take it in—the tablecloth, the candles, the fanciest wine glasses Brandon’s got. There’s a brief flash of panic that like, Saader will _laugh_ at him, or ask him what the fuck he’s thinking, or—

“You really didn’t have to try this hard,” Saader says slowly, and he sounds amused but not mean, not angry. Brandon is cautiously hopeful. 

“What?” Brandon asks, and fiddles with the tie he’s still wearing. “Who’s trying anything?”

Saader looks at the table and breaks into the kind of smile Brandon’s only thought about on him, never seen. It’s the sort of smile that conveys _yes_ and _more_ and _I fucking dare you_ all at once.

“We could eat dinner now, like you planned,” Saader says, and takes a step toward him. He runs his tongue along his lower lip, and Brandon is _mostly_ sure it wasn’t a carefully thought out move, but, well. He’s not positive. “Or.” 

“Or?” Brandon asks, trying to maintain his composure. He was thinking Saad was gonna want to take this slow—like they would eat their fancy dinner and maybe make out a little, and then repeat the process for a few nights. Part of his foolproof plan was patience.

Saader does not seem especially inclined to let Brandon stick to his plan. 

Somehow, Brandon is not that upset about it.

“You want me, Bolly?” Saader says, and his smile is tugging at his lip where it got a little busted up, and Brandon wonders if Saader notices it. Wonders if he likes it. “All you had to do was say so.”

Brandon cannot be blamed for the little strangled noise he makes, and he reaches for Saader, grabs him by the hips and presses him up against the counter. “I want you, then,” he says, slides his hands up under his shirt, just barely, so he can get his palms against bare skin.

Saader hops up on the counter, and Brandon takes the opportunity to grip him a little tighter, just above his hips. He’s warm and smooth beneath his touch, and his lips part, tongue out just a little, and, yes, that move is _definitely_ calculated, and definitely working for Brandon.

“You’re so fucking _pretty_ ,” Brandon says, because it’s been in his head since he met the kid, and now, with him sitting on the counter, legs open so Brandon can stand between them, arms coming up to wrap around Brandon’s neck, he can say it. 

From the way Saader’s face flushes a bit (and Christ, if that isn’t fucking beautiful in its own right), he likes to hear it.

“You gonna kiss me or not, Bollig?” Saader asks, and, though his voice is amused and confident and a little dirty all at once, it’s also—there’s something cautious in it. Like somehow he’s not sure that this is going to go the way he wants it to.

Brandon will do _anything_ to make it go the way he wants it to.

He was going to just go for it, crash their mouths together and dive right in, but something in him makes him pause just before he does it, bring a hand up to cup his jaw and trace his thumb along his lower lip.

“Yeah, Saader,” he promises, dropping his voice. “I am.”

And he does.

Saader makes a pleased noise and arches up into it, mouth opening just slightly. He keeps one arm around Brandon and lets the other hand slide from his shoulder to his collar, deftly loosening his tie and then sliding it out of his collar.

“You stayed dressed up for me, huh,” Saader murmurs, stealing time to speak between kisses. “Is this a date, Bolly?”

Brandon presses another kiss to his mouth and pulls back, just barely, just enough to meet his eyes and offer a hopeful smile. “And if it was?”

Saader laughs and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “I guess that’d be alright.”

“You _guess_ ,” Brandon laughs, and plays offended. “I should fight you. Or, wait, have you had enough for the night?”

Saader grins at him and then crosses his legs at the ankles, boxing Brandon in between his thighs. It is not at all at bad place to be. “I won, didn’t I?” he grins. “You want some of this?”

“I want _all_ of this,” Brandon says, and it comes out more honest than he had meant it to, it’s less like a joke and more like a promise, and Saader looks startled for a moment before his face settles into something softer, fonder.

He nudges his nose against Bolly’s jaw, and nuzzles against him for a moment. “Well,” he finally says, and then tightens his legs around him. “It’s yours.”

Brandon kisses him again then, presses up into his space and wraps his arms around his lower back. Saader’s mouth is both eager and insistent; he’s pliant and earnest and demanding all at once and Brandon can’t get enough of it.

When he tongues at his lower lip where it’s still threatening to split, Saader lets out this moan that goes straight to Brandon’s dick, and he yanks him in closer by the hips, right up to the edge of the counter.

“Take your shirt off,” he says, and Saader obeys immediately, peels his t-shirt off over his head and tosses it aside. He leans back in for another kiss, but Brandon’s got other plans, needs to map out Saader’s chest with his hands and his tongue.

He ducks his head, sucks a bright, harsh mark right at the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. Saader lets out an appreciative moan, and Brandon slides his hands up his sides, brushing over his ribcage, coming to settle at his nipples.

“ _Fuck_ me,” Brandon says a little breathlessly, pulling his head back just enough to look at him, see the way the skin on his left side is already mottled with bruises, remnants of the game or the fight, and then looks back up to his face, to the black eye and split lip.

Pretty. It’s fucking filthy and rough and _pretty_.

“You totally get off on me all beat up like this, don’t you,” Saader says, and he grins, sounds so amused. Brandon answers by kissing him again, and this time Saader takes the lead real easy, licks into his mouth and digs his nails into his shoulders.

Brandon presses one of his hands against the bruise on his side, feels Saader shudder and gasp beneath him. “Yeah,” he half-growls, and then kisses him all the harder for it. “I really fucking do.”

Saader starts working at his shirt, yanking at the buttons and shoving it off his shoulders. He leans in and sinks his teeth into his neck—clearly no stranger to biting, to bruising. Brandon doesn’t know if it’s a hockey player thing or just a Saad and Bollig thing, but, either way, he’s fucking wild for it.

They fucking lose it on each other, biting and marking and claiming, and Brandon’s rock hard in his pants. Saader is tenting his sweats in a big way (and, Brandon is thrilled to note, a _big way_ ), and Brandon’s the first to go for it, reaches down to massage the bulge there.

Saader groans and hauls him into another kiss, and Brandon gets one hand on his face, running his thumb along his cheek, and leaves the other on his dick, gripping him through the layers of fabric.

“I want you in my bedroom,” Brandon gasps out, and Saader nods, rolls his hips up against his. When he gets off the counter, he looks a little unsteady on his feet, and Brandon has to grab him, press him up against the wall, kiss him senseless.

“Come on,” Saader manages, flushed and grinding against him. “I want to suck your cock, come _on_ —”

They strip in the hallway. 

Saader drops to his knees before they even get to the bed.

If Brandon thought Saad was pretty earlier, standing in his kitchen with those earnest fucking eyes, it’s nothing compared to what he looks like now, naked, hard, lips parted ever so slightly.

Even his eyelashes are pretty, Brandon finds himself thinking, and he ever so lightly drags his thumb below Saader’s eye, tracing where the skin has gotten swollen and purple. Saader sucks in a breath.

“That okay?” Brandon murmurs, and, at Saader’s little gasp and an accompanying nod, sweeps his thumb along the bruised skin again.

Saader looks up at him, holds eye contact. He’s perfect.

“So _fucking_ pretty,” he says, and then wraps his hand around his dick. He presses the head up against the corner of Saader’s mouth, rubs his cockhead along his lips and chin. 

Saader runs his tongue along his lips, opens his mouth. “Please,” he says, just once. “Let me.”

He’s asking for it, asking for Brandon’s cock, asking with an open mouth and a demanding, unapologetic gaze. There’s not much Brandon could deny him anyway—but he’d never _want_ to deny him this, and, when he feeds Saader his dick, he’s rewarded with a moan and one of Saader’s hands pressing into his thigh.

Saader just fucking goes for it, swallows him down and works his hand around the base. He’s as precise in this as he is in everything else, and Brandon wants him to lose that control, wants to mess him up a little.

He tangles his fingers into his hair, fucking _loves_ his hair. When he pulls, just slightly, Saader moans around his dick, and Brandon smirks.

He lets Saader do as he likes for a while longer, lets him set the pace. He pulls back to suck on the head, and Brandon lets him for a moment, and then gets a little impatient and tugs him forward.

Saader’s eyes flick up to meet Brandon’s, and Brandon pushes his hair back from his forehead. “You good, babe?” he asks, and it’s not exactly like Saader can answer with a mouthful of dick, but he does as best he can, and goes down deeper. 

God, yeah. Saader’s good.

And Saader is _greedy_ , Brandon discovers, taking as much as he can, lips stretched around him. His cheeks are hollowed and he just keeps glancing back up at Bolly, and he’s—well. To say he’s perfect seems an understatement.

Brandon fucks his mouth slowly at first, then harder and faster, and Saader’s got a hand fisted around his own dick, jerking himself off while he swallows Brandon’s cock. His other hand is splayed out on Brandon’s hip, gripping so tight Brandon’s expecting (and, quite honestly, looking forward to) bruises. 

It goes on that way, with Saader working his tongue and his throat around his cock, and Brandon’s hands holding on tight to his hair, and he’s nearly about to lose it, to come down his throat, or maybe cover that pretty face in stripes—but, he has to remind himself, he’s got other plans. 

He’s got more he wants to do to him.

“Stop, off,” he forces himself to say, and Saader pulls off immediately.

“Are you alright, I’m sorry—” he starts, and Brandon rushes to reassure him, cups his face in his hands and presses his thumb into the corner of his mouth.

“It’s okay, babe you’re okay,” he promises, and runs one of his hands through that thick, dark, gorgeous hair. “I was just gonna come.”

Saader smirks up at him from his knees and presses a kiss to the head of Brandon’s cock. “I really don’t see what’s so bad about that,” he says, and licks a stripe up from the base.

Brandon gives a sharp tug to his hair and watches Saader let his head fall back, throat bared. He can see the bruises he’d left scatted across his throat and neck and shoulders, his skin rubbed a little red and raw from Brandon’s beard, and Saader’s already half gone. 

“Don’t you want me to fuck you?” he asks, and Saader groans. Brandon can see his hand speed up, still working his dick, and he looks shaky and increasingly desperate, and Brandon says, “Stop.”

Saader lets his hand fall. It’s incredibly satisfying.

“Good,” Brandon says, and he’s surprised by how rough his voice is, like he was the one with a cock down his throat and not Saader. He tugs Saader up to stand, pulls him close.

They’re the same height, basically, but somehow Saader seems _small_ when he’s all pressed up against him this way, when Brandon can curl his hands around his neck and fuck his tongue into his mouth. 

Saader kisses back, grinding his hips up against Brandon’s, and Brandon just twists them around, half-shoves Saader down onto the bed and going along with him. He straddles his hips, bent over to keep his hands on his neck and shoulders, keep their mouths pressed together. 

One of Saader’s knees is bent at the knee, bracketing Brandon on one side, and he keeps rolling his hips up to rut their cocks together. Brandon tears himself away from Saader’s mouth—and truly, it’s a tragedy—and reaches over to the nightstand.

While Brandon’s stretched out over him, Saader angles himself up to bite his nipple, because Saader is a sneaky little fuck. Brandon drops the condom he’d grabbed onto the floor and looks back at him. He’s grinning, filthy and unrepentant, and Brandon has to pause to kiss it off his face.

“You can’t keep distracting me if you want me to fuck you,” Brandon chides, kissing down his neck. “Unless you think condoms aren’t _necessary?_ ”

It’s just a joke, but Saader sucks in a sharp breath underneath him, and then says, “They are,” in a tone that can best be described as regretful, which, okay, good for future reference, potentially, but still irrelevant for tonight.

“Then be good,” Brandon grins, and kisses him quickly before going for that top drawer again. He drops the small bottle of lube and the condom on the bed beside Saader and then gets lost in kissing him again, letting him suck on his tongue and rock his hips up.

He was so close earlier, though, when Saader was on his knees for him, and he’s been waiting for this a long time, and so before long he sits up and scoots off him. 

“Up,” he tells him, and watches Saader move up the bed a bit, angle his hips, spread his legs. Saader gives him another dirty little smirk, and, honestly, Brandon wasn’t expecting him to be this—well, this _sexy_ , honestly.

Not that it’s a problem.

The way his thighs fall open is obscene, and the way Saader slides a hand down his own chest and settles on his dick, lazily stroking, is—Brandon’s half tempted to just watch, to have Saader get himself off right here, just for Brandon to see.

But that’s for another time, he resolves, and he settles between Saader’s legs, sitting on his kneels.

“You’ve done this?” Brandon asks, just checking, and Saader nods. He’s got his lower lip between his teeth, worrying at that fucking cut. Brandon’s torn between interest (because, like, who?) and this strange sort of jealousy (because _who?_ ).

“But not for a while, and—not like this,” Saader says, and Brandon doesn’t really know what that means, doesn’t know how to take that. When he looks back at Saader’s face, he’s wide-eyed and his mouth is a little open, and Brandon runs his hand along his thigh.

“You want to?” Brandon asks, just checking, and the urgency with which Saader nods is enough to fuel him, to press a slicked up fingertip against his hole.

Saader lets out a full body shudder.

Brandon’s looking forward to this.

He fingers him open slowly, carefully. Saader’s still, at first, but for his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, but the more Brandon pushes, the more he comes apart. 

His cock is hard and gorgeous, resting against his belly, and Brandon wraps his free hand around him and gives him a few quick tugs, even as he twists his fingers inside him. Saader makes this noise, sharp and wrecked, and his hips jerk up like he couldn’t control them.

“Hey,” Brandon murmurs, voice low.

Saader’s got his eyes shut, but when he opens them, they’re just as striking as always, with his pupils are blown wide. He’s got this sheen of sweat, his hair’s a little damp with it, and his lips are cherry red, bitten and bruised.

And Brandon _did that_ to him, got to make him look that fucking sinful.

“Please,” Saader says, and he sounds breathless, desperate. Brandon scissors his fingers and Saader squirms on the bed, clutches the sheets, whimpers. “ _Please,_ ” he says again, shaky with it. “How do you want me?”

Hands and knees would be nice, have that gorgeous, muscular back spread out and rippling underneath him. Or Saader could ride him, let Brandon watch his thighs strain while he fucked himself down onto his cock.

But—but no, he wants him just like this, wants to kiss him, see him.

He wants him any way he can have him. But they’ve got all the time in the world for the rest.

“Brandon, come on,” Saader says, and for all that he was begging and writhing a moment ago, he’s bossy now, reaching for Brandon and hauling him into a brutal kiss. “ _Fuck_ me.”

Brandon nods, desperate with it, and presses him down into the mattress, rolls the condom on and then presses against his hole. He traces the tip of his cock in a line between his hole and his balls; Saader’s sharp intake of breath is _overwhelming_. Brandon rests a hand on his chest, tweaks a nipple. “You good, babe?” he murmurs, and Saader nods.

“Do it,” he says, and Brandon obeys, pushes into him, starts so slow and so careful. Saader’s breathing heavy once he’s buried deep, trembling with the effort to keep still and digging his nails into Brandon’s shoulders.

“You’re—you’re so fucking good,” Brandon says. “God, knew you would be, knew you’d take it like this.”

Saader rolls his hips up against Brandon’s, immediate and demanding, which is, you know, a surprise. “Get to it,” he says, and grins, and Brandon swears and pulls out before pushing back in.

That first slide into him was unhurried, but Brandon’s been thinking about this so long, and Saader is smirking at him so filthy, and so Brandon lets go, fucks him like there’s nothing else in the world.

Saader runs his mouth the whole time, which, again, surprising. “Fuck me, come on, Bolly,” he urges him on, his demands and encouragements mixed with these wordless sounds. 

They’re both wrecked with this, sweaty and close. Saader is spread out beneath him, all muscles and bruises, and Brandon fucks him harder, hips snapping into him. 

Eventually, Saader loses his words, is nothing but these desperate noises, and Brandon’s grunting with the effort of fucking into him, and when Saader manages to beg, a little teary eyed, “I wanna come,” Brandon doesn’t argue, just wraps his hand around his cock and tugs him off.

He can feel his body tense and then relax around his cock, and watching Saader come over Brandon’s fist—it’s so much, and Brandon’s tipping over soon after, shaking apart above him and coming harder than he can remember doing in ages.

He rests on top of Saader for a moment, dick softening inside him, come sticking between them, and ducks his head into his neck. Saader’s breathing hard, and Brandon bites down on his shoulder in one of the few spots he hasn’t already marked him. Claimed him.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he mumbles, and Saader lets out this shaky laugh beneath him and nuzzles his head down against the top of Brandon’s head.

“Thanks,” he says, and kisses his temple.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me on [tumblr](http://peeksy.tumblr.com) for more hockey shenanigans!


End file.
